Misfire
by Dave-ck
Summary: It starts to come back to him. Flashes of brilliant colour against the grey fog of his mind. Light. Flashing. Reflected. And- Words, slurred on his lips. "I love you." Season Four AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Castle belongs to the guys who created it, obviously. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made.

**Notes**: The idea for this story was stolen straight from a Tumblr prompt. It's being written as I go, so there's not going to be any kind of coherent posting schedule, sorry. (But I am between jobs atm, so here's hoping for a quick turn around.) No Beta Readers were hurt in the making of this. (But volunteers are welcome.)

–

**Misfire 1/?**

–

There is no gentle awakening.

Awareness strikes him all at once, slicing through him like a hot blade, twisting and searing in his chest.

Oh, but _fuck,_ it hurts – everything hurts, everywhere – and he can't breathe. There's something in his throat that he tries to swallow around and can't.

His scream has no voice as he writhes on the bed, panic rising in the wild pound of his heart and he _can't. breathe. Oh, God. _

Castle's eyes water as he tries to reach for his face but something's holding him down. Hands, soft and firm and familiar, like a balm on his burning skin.

A face swims in his field of vision and he recognises her through the blur of tears. Red hair and deep, worried lines. His mother. It calms him a little, but not enough, because he still _can't._ _fucking. breathe._

She's speaking, to him and then not. Over him, like he's not there, and he should – he should care, but he doesn't because all he can hear is the thunderous rush of blood through his ears.

More hands grab at him and then ice slices through his veins. In the space of a breath, what should be a breath, he feels his heart start to calm, feels the world grow heavy and dark and he finds it harder to move but easier to breathe. His mother is still talking over him. Her voice is a little bit less frantic and there's someone on the other side of the bed, he thinks, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters because it all starts to come back to him. Flashes of brilliant colour against the grey fog of his mind.

_Montgomery. _

_They were – Roy was dead. _

_And a flash of something in the distance._

_The smell of fresh cut grass, soft against his cheek. _

_Something _wrong_. Something that shouldn't be._

_Beckett, deep lines creasing her forehead, bloodied hands in his hair, on his cheek. _

_Light. Flashing. Reflected._

_And-_

_Words slurred on his lips. "I love you."_

_And then-_

_A shot._

Oh, God.

He was shot.

–


	2. Chapter 2

**Misfire 2/?**

–

It's a slower, gentler rise to the surface this time.

A thick fog weighs against his mind and, when he wakes, he's blanketed from the world.

He feels separate. Apart.

A splinter of light filters through his cracked eyelids and it's almost like he's watching the world from behind a glass wall.

And that's good.

That's okay because, this time, he can breathe. He sucks in short, small breaths that burn distant against the raw stretch of his throat and it's weak, erratic, but breath, and that's something. That's more than something.

Castle's eyes slip closed without his permission and when he tries to speak he can't. He has to clear his throat, swallow roughly against the sandpaper of his tongue.

There's nothing restraining him now but he feels heavy. His mind is thick, muddied, his body weighed down. He remembers and he doesn't, not exactly. His thoughts are jumbled, scattered. Ideas, more than memories, and even those feel distant, a part of another man's story rather than his own.

He tries to focus his mind, to let the roll of images flicker behind his eyelids and-

There was –

Beckett was there. And his mother. And his daughter.

In the ambulance.

He remembers. His daughter was there, with him, in the ambulance.

The thought is enough to make him find his voice. "'Lexis?"

There's a jolt next to him and a hand squeezes around his, cold fingers in a tight grip. "Dad? Oh, thank God, you're awake. I was so scared."

Years have passed since he's heard that kind of tremor in her voice, the echo of monsters-under-the-bed and terrible-things-in-the-night and all of a sudden she's his baby girl again, scared and looking to her Daddy. The urge to reassure her is overwhelming and he stretches out his hand, clumsy and heavy as it lands on her shoulder.

He tries to tell her it's okay but he chokes on the words in his throat, coughs, and just like that, a hole tears in the shell cocooning him. He pulls into himself as agony, white-hot and branding, rips through his chest and scores right down to his bones.

This is it then. He's never been more certain that he's dying. Never more sure that he wants to.

But he doesn't. The black veil of unconsciousness doesn't find him. Even so, it takes a while to register the warmth bleeding into his skin, the gentle hand on his forehead. It takes longer still for him to listen the calming murmurs, to focus on his breathing. And he has to. On the voice. On anything. Anything to distract him from the pain.

"Just breathe, Richard. That's it, come on. It's okay, just breathe."

And so he does. He counts each racing beat of his heart as they sing out a chorus, listens as they slow and feels it echo in his chest. Gradually, he can force enough of the small, wheezing breaths that his muscles unclench, relax, and he unfurls from the tight ball he's curled into.

Another moment and he sinks into the silence in his head. Breathes.

Castle lets the numbness blanket him again, hides in it. The drugs, he thinks, must be top notch, but all they can offer is a false sense of security. He's acutely aware of the pain that lurks just underneath the thin veil, like a knife's edge, sharp against his skin but not pressed hard enough to cut.

When he opens his eyes his mother is hovering over him, hand still in his hair, his daughter on the other side of the bed. Worry paints fresh lines on their faces.

Twin sets of blue eyes bore into him, but he lets another minute pass before he tries to speak again. "Water?"

Something cold is pressed against his lips and he opens his mouth, sucks greedily on the ice.

"Slowly," Martha admonishes, and he tries.

"What happened?"

Martha hesitates and, in the end, it's Alexis that answers him. "You were shot."

Castle nods slowly. He remembers that much.

His mother continues to stroke the hair from his forehead and he's reminded, almost, of when he was a boy. "The doctors say you're going to be okay, kiddo."

"Was anybody else hurt?" He keeps his question general but he means someone specific and the way his daughter's eyes narrow lets him know that she knows.

"No." Alexis shakes her head and he can see the struggle on her face, pain dashed away by anger. "And, you know, she hasn't even been to visit."

"This isn't anyone's fault." He tries to sound authoritative, reassuring, but all he can manage is gravelly.

"Isn't it?"

"Alexis-" He reaches out to her but she's backing away from him.

"I just need some air." She hesitates at the door, spares him one last look before she slips away.

"Mother?"

"She's just worried."

"I know."

"She has a right to be."

Castle nods tiredly, his energy reserves quickly fading. "Yes, she does."

"It was very close, Richard. The bullet-" his mother's voice breaks and she takes a deep breath before she can continue. "We thought we were going to lose you."

"I'm sorry." And he is. "Will you check on her?"

Martha nods, grabbing and squeezing his hand before she steps away. "And she's right, Katherine hasn't been by."

Castle closes his eyes again as his mother takes her leave. He's more than simply exhausted, but sleep doesn't find him, instead it's Beckett's face that paints the back of his eyelids.

He remembers. Remembers the look on her face as he poured out his heart – his last chance to, he'd thought.

No, she hasn't visited. Of course not. Because you're not supposed to wake after a deathbed confession.

–


	3. Chapter 3

**Misfire 3/?**

–

Time passes strangely, trapped as he is in the confines of his windowless room. It's hard to tell day from night, the harsh lighting never really changing, and he sleeps when he needs to – which is a lot – rather than when he should. There's no real pattern to his days apart from meals and it's usually breakfast when he's expecting dinner, but he's tried to keep count of the nurses rotating and by his guess it's a week, at least, when he hears news he's been waiting for.

"A detective is here to see you," his nurse says, disdain in her voice as she scribbles down his blood pressure.

He knew she couldn't stay away forever. Castle can't help the way he perks up, his heart monitor betraying to the room the quickening of his pulse. He's glad, at least, that his daughter and mother are finally taking a break and aren't around to bear witness.

For the first time since he woke, he wishes for a mirror so he can assess the damage. It hurts to raise his arms and he winces at the tug as he reaches up to oh-so-casually straighten his hair. He gives up before he earns a disapproving look.

She gives him one anyway and jots another note. "The doctor thinks they should wait, but you know how the NYPD is."

"Relentless and unyielding in the pursuit of justice?"

She snorts, amused, and he watches her throw a look at the uniform stationed by his door before she leans in conspiratorially and whispers, "If they give you any trouble, you just yell out."

"I'm not in any trouble, I promise."

His nurse straightens. "I know that, Mr. Castle."

And she does, he's sure. News of what happened seems to have spread quickly and even the medical staff have been bandying words like _hero_ at him ever since he awoke. Alexis tells him there's talk of another medal from the mayor.

He's not sure how he feels about it, if he's honest. He knows, deep down, he was being far from selfless, jumping in front of that bullet. He's reminded, every day, by the look on his kid's face.

"Even so," she says, interrupting his thoughts, "just hit the button and we'll have him out of here in a flash."

_Him?_

Castle's heart sinks. Not Beckett, then. And probably not a social visit, either.

He stops listening as the nurse continues to poke and prod and prattle on, nodding absently each time she pauses. Eventually she pats his arm, all done, and the door opens and closes behind her. It's quiet, but he almost doesn't hear the other person come in.

"Hey, Castle."

When he looks up, Ryan is there, notepad held in front of him like a shield.

–

"And then?"

"And then nothing. I woke up here."

Ryan waits, one eyebrow quirked upwards in question.

Castle shrugs. Or tries to. He gets one shoulder up, at least. "Some things are still… fuzzy."

Ryan nods, tucking away his notepad. "We thought that might be the case. You, uh, you took quite a hit."

"So my statement-"

"Matches up with other eyewitness reports pretty well."

_Didn't need to take his statement_ is what he hears and it surprises him, the sudden, irrational feeling that he's just an item that's been checked off a list.

"I should really get back," Ryan says, but the other man hesitates by the foot of his bed. He looks like he's about to say something more but then stops and closes his mouth.

Castle mentally shakes himself and motions to the chair by his bed. Ryan is his friend, he knows that. The guys at the precinct respect him. Some of the time, at least. He's being ridiculous. "Sit for a while. I'm going crazy locked up in here."

"_Going_ crazy?" Ryan asks, pulling over a chair to sit awkwardly. "Way too late for that."

"Okay, I stepped into that one."

Ryan smiles and the creases are deeper than he's used to seeing on the younger man's face. "I wanted to come around earlier but it hasn't slowed down at the precinct. You get the flowers? All the guys pitched in."

Castle points to an arrangement along the left wall, a small bear wearing a miniature 'Writer' vest next to it. "Very nice. Tell the guys 'thanks' for me."

"Will do. You're looking better. Less… covered in blood."

Castle snorts.

"What are the doctor's saying?"

"Long road ahead. They haven't been very specific at this point." Castle pauses, takes the deepest breath he can and asks, "How's the investigation going? Any leads?"

"Let us worry about it, you need to focus on healing, Castle. Getting your strength back."

Yeah, okay. He's offended. Bandaged and ignored, sure, but he's still part of the team. "Ryan, I've been following you guys around for a while now, I know a line when I'm being fed one."

Ryan's shoulders drop. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry. They want to keep you out of it."

"They?"

"The Captain and..."

"And?"

Ryan doesn't elaborate but he's pretty sure he knows the answer. Kate's cutting him out.

"Leads are pretty thin on the ground at the moment," the young detective says instead. "We've been canvasing, but we're not having much luck."

"Did anyone see the shooter?"

"No." Ryan looks uncomfortable. Like what he's about to say is a personal failure. "We recovered the gun but it's clean. No prints, no DNA, no fibers. There's less than nothing to go on. This guy was good, whoever he was."

Castle slumps back against his pile of pillows. Of course. "More ghosts."

"This is-" Ryan lowers his voice and leans closer. "This is big, Castle. They've put together a task force. We're barely holding on to the investigation."

A task force?

"What do you mean?"

"Gates, the new Captain, well, she's… she's something else. Cut her cloth in IA. She's by the book." Ryan nods towards the uniform by the door. "Case this big, they wanted to call in the Feds. We're under a lot of pressure to get results and keep you safe. Hell, the hospital had to put together this room special, no windows, just for you."

"Why waste the resources? We know I'm not-"

Ryan cuts him off with a shake of his head. "World famous mystery writer gunned down in front hundreds of the NYPDs finest, that's the headline doing the rounds. The mayor is furious, the Captain is breathing down our necks and it's getting harder every day to keep certain aspects of the investigation quiet, but-"

He gets it. It takes him longer than it usually would, sure, but he gets it. "But we get access to more resources if I stay the victim."

Ryan looks almost ashamed as he nods. "In a nutshell."

At least, he figures, it's one way he can help from in here.

"At least you're still managing to investigate underneath the investigation."

The silence that descends is awkward as Castle builds the courage to ask, "How's Beckett?"

The detective pauses and frowns before his face resolves and it's funny, Castle thinks, how it's easier to talk about his being shot. "She's in deep, Castle. I've – I've never seen her in so deep. Even Espo is worried."

"You need to pull her back out, Ryan. These guys aren't kidding around, they've already tried to put a bullet in her once."

Ryan shakes his head. "I don't know how. I can't get through to her, Castle."

Her father's words echo, her Captain's sacrifice stinging, and he can feel it, a heavy weight across his shoulders, because-

"I can."

–

He's not sure how the younger man does it, but a little while after his mother and daughter have left for the night there's a knock on the doorframe and when he looks up his heart skips.

She's there.

–


	4. Chapter 4

**Misfire 4/?**

–

"You look like hell, detective."

Beckett's laugh is humourless. It's dark and twisted and not something he ever expected to hear pass through her lips. He savours it nonetheless, not sure how many times he's going to get to hear her, see her, after he asks of her what he must. Their truce after Roy - well, it was tentative at best and he's not sure if the bullet strengthened it or weakened it. Either way, he's sure it won't survive when their partnership had failed.

"Gee, thanks."

He tries on a smile for her. "Sorry."

Castle doesn't mean to be harsh but it's the truth. She looks exhausted in a way that he's never seen before. A bone-deep kind of weary that clings to her skin and makes the shadows under her eyes seem darker.

Deep, Ryan said. She's in deep and she's dangling, he can tell, barely clinging to the edge of the precipice, hovering over the darkness.

Her eyes, though. Her eyes hold a sparkle that's at odds with her appearance. It fills him with stupid, desperate hope.

The corner of her mouth cants upwards. "You look fabulous, Castle."

"Thank you. This spa is wonderful," he says, motioning to the hospital room with his left hand. He forgets the IV line until it catches and tugs. "Shit."

"Don't hurt yourself," Beckett says, sliding next to the bed and taking his hand between both of her own.

This close he can see how her cheeks have hollowed and he wonders if she's been eating at all. Even her hair is limp, drained of life and light and, honestly, he has no idea how that's even possible – how can hair look tired?

"What?" She must misread the confusion on his face because she drops his hand and steps back from the bed. Something foreign crosses her features, there and then gone, as she settles in a chair.

"You didn't bring me flowers," he states, trying to keep his to-ing deliberately light as he waits for her fro.

"No," she says, her chin lifting once more. "I brought you something better."

"Chocolate?"

He's trying to coax her back, little by little away from the edge, but it doesn't work. The moments of levity too brief to squash the sudden glint of steel in her eyes.

"There's been a break on the case."

A break? Why did Ryan not tell him? Would his friend lie?

Castle clears his throat. "I thought Ryan said you guys had nothing."

Beckett nods her head slowly. "An anonymous tip was phoned in this afternoon."

Interesting. "Yeah?"

"An arrest was made."

Not the right one, he's sure, or she would have led with that. "You weren't there?"

"No." Beckett shakes her head. This time, he reaches for her hand and she meets him half way, lets their fingers tangle.

"I thought you're still the lead detective on the case?"

"I am, this is still in our jurisdiction, but I won't be party to a stitch up."

Castle squeezes her fingers, brushes his thumb across the side of her own. He likes this, the press of her fingers between his. "You don't think he's the guy?"

"No, I'm pretty sure he's not the guy."

"What makes you so sure?"

"He's a total whack job, Castle. Got Nikki Heat's face-" Beckett waves their joined hands, "-body, whatever, plastered all over the walls of his apartment."

He hears what she says but it doesn't quite register, instead a chorus of '_Goodbye, Nikki' _flashes through his mind, repeating itself like a twisted lullaby. The realization is startling – it hadn't even crossed his mind, but is it possible the timing was a coincidence? Are they looking for another Scott Dunn?

"So the shooting was unrelated to your mother's case?" It's not really a question.

He misses the shake of her head.

Maybe he deserves this hole in his chest. "I put you in danger. Again."

"No." Beckett sighs and tugs on his hand, a silent demand for his attention. "No, of course it's not unrelated. This guy- this guy could never have pulled off a stunt like that."

Something in her faces hardens. "He could never walk away clean. He looks like he can barely keep his hands from shaking, never mind shooting a rifle and hitting yo-" her voice wavers. "A target," she corrects, "clear across a field full of cops and then vanishing."

"So it was a professional, then. Someone ordered a hit." He's ashamed when he realises there's a small sense of relief.

Beckett nods. "No way this guy pulled it off."

The room feels quiet as he thinks. It's eerily so, the constant hum of background noise fading away at the intense look in his partner's eyes. "So then why point the finger at this guy? Why risk a trail when there was none?"

"Because of you, Castle." She's squeezing his hand now. Tight. "You're important," she says. He thinks he hears layers in that statement but before he can contemplate it she's pulling back, releasing his hand to the cold of the room. "High profile."

"I thought I was barely famous?"

"You getting shot," she says, ignoring him, "it was a mistake. One that they'll pay for."

And he hears it again, a world of layers hidden beneath her words.

He doesn't know how to read them. "But you said there's been a breakthrough?"

"Yeah." A darker version of her normal smile spreads across her face. It looks dangerous, her lips stretched too thin, too many of her teeth on display. "The anonymous tip."

"You have a lead?"

"We have a lead."

"How?"

"Ryan told you about the task force?"

Castle nods, not quite sure where she's going with it but willing to listen.

"I guess they weren't expecting the toys our friends have. We were able to trace the call back to a payphone outside of 49th and Hudson. We pulled CCTV from a café across the street."

"Did you get a clear look?"

Beckett nods. "We have a face."

A face.

The man who shot him, maybe?

And there's something in that. Something that makes his chest tighten and curl, his breath short and hard to find. The face of the man that shot him.

Beckett's hand finds his shoulder and when he looks over she's hovering by his bedside, her expression equal parts concern and fear. "Are you okay?"

Castle nods slowly, keeping his eyes on hers. She doesn't look away, lends him what little strength she has left, and he's selfishly grateful.

"I should call a nurse," Beckett says, but she doesn't make a move to, continuing instead to hover at his side.

"No." Sheer will alone forces his breath to even. "I'm fine, Beckett."

He's not a coward, never thought of himself as one, but…

Later. He'll think about it later.

"Are we going to be able to track him down?"

She sits on the edge of the bed this time, closer, and he reaches out, snatches her hand back, holds onto it like an anchor.

"Yeah. They're running his face now."

They'll find him. It's just a matter of time with the resources they've been given. This is it, then. If he's going to do it, he has to do it now. "I don't think it should be you."

"What are you talking about?" she asks, brow furrowed. It's almost adorable.

Castle lets his eyes scan her face. "The one that goes after him, I don't think it should be you."

She stands, steps away from him. Betrayal colours her features and something else. Something he can't recognize. "Why the hell not?"

"Because it was your chest that had a target on it, Kate. They're going after you."

"And they missed. They shot you." That something, whatever it is, grows, morphs. It overtakes her features, twists them, until all he can see is anger. She's so angry, she's shaking with it. He can feel it radiating off her like a physical presence in the room.

His lowest shot, he knows, and he's taking it. "Yeah. And I can't do it, Kate. I can't jump in front of another bullet for you. Not from here."

Her face pales, and he finally recognizes it, the emotion he can see in the press of her lips. Grief. He expected anger, prepared himself to face it, but it's gone, vanished in the wake of her pain.

"I never asked you to."

He didn't- He never wanted to hurt her. But he has to. He has to follow through. Better alive and angry than dead, it was a choice he made long ago.

"Yeah, well, it's my life to throw away," he says softly, an echo of their argument, and he can see just how deeply that cuts her.

He expects her retreat, slicing as he is at the deepest of her wounds, but it doesn't come.

"Don't you dare," she says. Her voice is soft. Firm. Something dangerous lurks in the space between her breaths. "Don't you dare even joke about that. Your blood was on my hands."

A piece of her comes into the light and he can see it, finally, raw and jagged and broken. Open and bleeding, just as much as he was.

"I – I watched you die. You bled out on me. Instead of me. You bled out in my place and I had to watch you die, Rick. And I realised I can't-"

Silence. Thick and heavy and oh, God. What has he done?

He's almost too afraid to ask. "Can't what?"

"I can't do this without you."

–


End file.
